Woe is Me! It appears that I can no longer post to my FaceBook page in the normal way. I have been trying most of the morning to add one more witty, pithy, deep and abiding thought to the already well-stocked larder of wisdom out there but have been told that it just ain’t gonna work just now. Try later. I wonder if they know just how old I am?

By the way, I have been monitoring the progress of this imminent female storm headed our way. The last hurricane I sat through was in New Orleans back in ninety or ninety one. It was a male storm and was manageable, albeit, we did loose a few ancient oaks on St. Charles Ave.

The females seem to have, at least in recent times, something to prove. That they can dish it out as good as or better than some old sluggish male blow hard. I know, I know. I’m on shaky ground here but names like Katrina and Rita come to mind. Irene – I’d rather see you in my dreams, my dear.

I thought that by moving to Maine 30 years ago I would avoid such inconveniences but – well we’ll just have to wait and see. We are talking about weather here and without putting too fine a point on it, It’s anybody’s guess. The actual weather people can bring together all kinds of remarkable tools to talk about while on TV with breakers crashing behind them but they seem as surprised as the rest of us about what actually happens most of the time.

I just love their over acted sense of responsibility. In slack moments, when not dogging a 30 foot storm surge, they resort to patronizing warnings about laying in batteries and bananas and water – like, hey, I wish I’d have thought about that. I guess you learn that in Weather Man school.

I guess I shouldn’t talk. I have an app on my phone that keeps me up to the minute on the progress of this baby and it is also on my Twitter page. Both of which will become useless when all the trees and light poles are laying on the ground. And I do have batteries, water and bananas laid by, along with a supply of various “medicinal” preparations to ease the tension during the depths of the storm.

So I am out to fill the gas can and check on other things that can be done in advance of this event. A 50 to 100 year storm that is predicted to pass down I – 95? I’ll take that as a real threat. I’ll see you at the gas pump or in the beer aisle.

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I had a peach for breakfast. It was a Pennsylvania peach. I am sure they are as good in many other places when left to ripen and then eaten soon. A classic freestone variety.

The skins pealed away nicely in long and broad swatches. There was no necessity to actuality cut away the fuzzy covering with a knife. To tell the truth, I have eaten the skins fuzz and all. Not bad, and I am certain it added to my minimum daily requirement of roughage.

But back to this particular peach. After it was pealed it popped away from the stone nicely and it should be noted that juice was dripping off my fingers as I cut the halves into bite sized pieces.

I considered sprinkling a dash of sugar on the already sweet morsels, and though given pause to do so, I decided to forego the addition in favor of the slightly tart sweetness of the just right ripeness of the peach.

My mouth, already awash, was ready for that first bite that I slowly moved around with tongue and chewed with an almost sensuous pleasure. What am I saying? It was completely sensuous.

I shut my eyes to visions of gentle rain and warm summer sunshine – the magic that produces such a magnificent creation.

I have one more for tomorrow. Then there are tomatoes from the garden. I only hope I can hold up beneath the strain.

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On the road. Steps to take. Faces to see. Embraces. Good-byes to say. Transition time. Sometimes trans-itions are more instructive than “-itions” themselves, if you will. Time passes. Steps ascend. (Or descend). Lives wax and wane and pass on altogether. Tic Toc, it’s time. It’s always time. That’s the problem. The solution is forward through time – in memory of time. It won’t work any other way. Tic Toc – on the road. Steps to take. Faces to see. Embraces. Good-byes to say.

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We recently had a weekend among old friends doing those wonderful things that have for a lifetime been fun for me. There was a birthday party, which among older people are real celebrations. There was a concert featuring Judy Collins, not everyone’s modern favorite, but she does sing real songs that actually sound like music. There was a fireworks show on the lake. Several of my closest and oldest friends were out there in a party boat enjoying a calm night with a waxing gibbous moon and a long pyrotechnical display.

So the scene is set for a complete and enjoyable weekend. I hasten to say that in many ways it was just that.

I am what is called, euphemistically, hearing impaired. That translates into backyard lingo as: tree stump deaf. Without my hearing aids, I wouldn’t even hear the Last Trumpet calling all us righteous souls to gather around that heavenly throne to party for bloody ever.

With these instruments I can participate in most conversations but in small groups and not with everyone talking at once. At the party with a live combo doing credit to their talent and fifty people all talking at once, I might as well have been on a Damascus street corner trying to pick up on the local gossip.

The concert was, I am told, marvelous. I simply could not hear the nuance of the music, or make out the words.

The boat ride was magical. There were dozens of boats out there waiting for the show. There was an ongoing conversation that I couldn’t quite follow. But that wasn’t the point of the boat ride anyway.

In a one to one situation I am almost assured to understand the other person. Such conditions simply can not be guaranteed.

I have always maintained that if you want to communicate with someone you are responsible for that. But, on the other hand, if every body else is getting it then it must be my problem and so it’s my job to deal with it.

Here’s how I can, and probably will handle it – (Actually, I lean heavily on these principles already)

1 – I’ll try to have the best hearing aid I can afford.

2 – I’ll use written media as much as possible. Email, blogs, chat. Even U. S. mail.

3 – I’ll avoid, as much as is practically possible, situations where there are many people and lots of ambient noise, where it is expected that at the same time some kind of conversation will be going on.

4 – I’ll crawl in a hole. Ha Ha! Just kidding. (But there are times…..)

I’m not happy about this, but there is little I can do about it. On the other hand, I can still walk and climb and ride a bicycle and paddle my boat. I can haul dirt and weed the garden. I can cook and eat most anything and I still have the dubious ability to drink the finest and freshest booze. I can be happy about these things. I am happy about these things.

The truth is, not much will change. I’ll keep trying to hear and understand in marginal situations. I could hope, I suppose, for some miracle. I wish I believed in miracles. Hell, I am a miracle. It’s just that I am a very old and used up miracle. However, I remain open to the possibilities – whatever that means! Does that count for hope?

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Every once in a while, I get caught up in thinking about the future. You could say that such behavior commands more respect than getting caught up in the past, but in reality, it’s about as effective. Someone said, “You use the past and plan for the future”. The essential thing, of course, is not to loose sight of now. As it has been said: Live now!

Still, I think some about what is coming down the road. I used to say, “I can’t wait until such and such gets here”. Now I just wonder if I’ll be around when it comes around. Achieving advanced age has its disadvantages, subtile though they be. (That was a joke)

When I think of how far the human race has come in my brief time and then push that out to the future, well, I can’t even begin to imagine those headlines.

The space shuttle just made its last liftoff into orbit. It has yet to be determined what the next project will be. Mars? What, in God’s name would we be doing on Mars? To me, it seems like another thinly disguised “social” program for over achieving geeks and salivating corporations waiting to become ultra rich at public expense.

Are you telling me that the advances made in such programs can not be made without some probe into the beyond of Dark Star?

Here’s one for you. Throw off the blinders the automobile industry has placed on the American psyche and get serious about rail service that’s affordable and available. Interstate right of way could be the passenger corridor, leaving existing freight systems in place. I can just imagine this conversation: “I’ll tell you one thing, Honey, this is the last time I’m driving 20 hours to St. Louis to see your mother. We’re taking the Zephyr next time”. It could be a commuter rail on steroids.

The airlines? Get real. Those people have had their shot. I’ve been treated like a piece of third class freight by those jerks for the last time. If you have to be in Hong Kong tomorrow go on and submit to the ordeal, but for continental travel I’ll choose the more human scale rail.

Ah, well, the future is, after all, just a bit of dreaming, isn’t it? I think I need more darkroast.